


Wrecked

by yun_channie



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst, Gen, Heartbreak, Heavy Angst, Im so sorry lmao, Lonely Richie Tozier, this is a vent tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:27:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22900936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yun_channie/pseuds/yun_channie
Summary: What do you do, when the weight of your loneliness has become too much for you to hide from yourself?
Kudos: 6





	Wrecked

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there!
> 
> I'm back! I have been writing small solos on a roleplaying facebook account and I have decided to post them here as well. This one is just,, sad, lol. It's a vent. I hope you don't mind either way and will enjoy reading it!

How does one explain the aching of their soul upon watching something that is absolutely destroying them? How does a man go on with his day, trying to make others' laugh as it is expected of him, whilst pain is 𝗰𝗿𝘂𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 him on the inside, whilst his soul is begging for even an ounce of mercy to the heavens above? To God, or whoever is sitting on His throne in the stars, who is laughing at the humans. Weeping, suffering and living in misery. How are you meant to be okay when you feel like everything, but that? As if a drill is digging deeper into your skull, the buzzing and the white noise stronger, louder the more you try to ignore it.

The door closes behind him with a click, slightest bit of the traffic is still seeping into the silent home through the crack. Richie's back is pressed against the wood. He leans his head back against it, 𝘵𝘩𝘶𝘥, a breath in and a breath out, but his chest is still aching. It's quivering helplessly, and the images of what he witnessed are burned into a broken record, playing in his mind and making him watch the scene over,

𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗿,

𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙤 𝙫 𝙚 𝙧.

Richie only wakes up from this upon a harsh inhale he had to take, since his lungs were lacking oxygen. His cheeks are warm, deep waters behind coke bottle glasses are brimmed with a red hue, stinging ever so slightly even as he tightly closes them. His long lashes are brushing against the top of his cheeks as he scrunches up his face as a reaction, as a medicine for the absolute definition of an emotional fever, rioting inside of his ribcage. The next he knows is that he's crying. Silently though, but the fat, hot tears running down his stubbled face are obvious enough for him to note his submission to his agony.

He was holding her hand, his thumb brushed it ever so gently, rubbing it with a ridiculous amount of affection Richie only 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘴 of during sleepless nights. He didn't know those people, they hadn't done anything wrong to Richie, nor did they mean to create pain in him, but all of it seems like a personal attack. God's laughter is echoing in his lonely foyer, bouncing back from the walls, stabbing into him with multiple daggers.

Do some people know how truly lucky they are to love and to be loved back without fear? Without having to hide who they are, hide who they love? Fear a part of themselves they know they can't help, but despise it still? Not be able to look into a mirror without wanting to shatter it from the pure frustration boiling up the blood running in his veins? 

Maybe he is meant to experience this desolation until the end of time.


End file.
